


Moments

by Drvivc (Fight_Surrender), Fight_Surrender



Series: The Marrieds [2]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: A Visiting, Dad Bods, Domestic, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Golden Days Zine, M/M, Married Life, Middle Aged Snowbaz, Post-Canon Fix-It, Sexual Humor, So Married, good dads, kind of, married snowbaz, married with kids, mentions of blowjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25513363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fight_Surrender/pseuds/Drvivc, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fight_Surrender/pseuds/Fight_Surrender
Summary: It's roughly twenty years post Carry On. Simon and Baz earned their happy ending. They beat the baddies and conquered their demons.  Life is a little less exciting now, but filled with warmth, love, and humor.Here is a day in the life of happily married Snowbaz...With a baby, a snarky three year old, and a visit from beyond the veil.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: The Marrieds [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1540600
Comments: 15
Kudos: 158
Collections: Golden Days: a Simon Snow Series zine





	Moments

**3:47 AM- Baz**

“I will give you the blowjob of your life, every day for a solid week if you take my turn,” Simon says with a groan. “Please, Baz, I need sleep. Every day for two weeks.” He’s swatting at me to get up, like the sound of the baby wailing over the monitor isn’t enough incentive.

“That’s what you said last week,” I growl, “And the week before that. At this point, you owe me a year of blowjobs. Furthermore, your jaw is likely to fall off and you’ll have semen toxicity.”

“Pretty please, you have vampire strength.” He’s wheedling now, puppy dog eyes in the dark. 

“You owe me,” I grumble, tossing the blankets aside as I get up.

“I love you so much,” Simon murmurs, snuggling into the sheets. 

This is our life now. Trading sexual favors for childcare. 

There was a time when we cast soundproofing spells to keep the neighbors from complaining about our more enthusiastic lovemaking. (Simon is the noisy one. Usually. Although, when he does that thing—with his—well, then it’s me.) Now the silencing spells are more often cast in an effort to keep one child from waking up the other. Post children, sex is less carnival and more oasis. A bit less exuberant, definitely less frequent, but infinitely more significant. A safe harbor in the ocean of domestic chaos that has become our lives.

I open the door to the nursery and am hit with the full force of the baby’s wails. “There there, little puff,” Oliver quiets down as soon as I scoop him from his crib and nestle him in my arms. “Which service are you requiring this evening?” The baby looks up at me, then resumes crying. “Oh, not physical and verbal comfort then? So that leaves us with food and a nappy change.” 

I cast a “ ** _you’re getting warmer_** ,” on a bottle of formula. “There, now you’ve got clean pants,” I say, tossing the soiled nappy into the trash. “You know, the sooner you figure out how to do this yourself, the better.” I carry Ollie to the overstuffed chair in the corner. “And while you’re at it, teach your sister how to use the toilet, will you?” 

Ollie pulls hungrily at his bottle, the only sound in the room that of tiny bubbles zipping through the nipple as he drinks. I place a kiss on his head—he smells vaguely of juniper and sour milk. Before long, he’s fallen back asleep, the bottle still in his mouth. I pop it from his lips and set it on the table. I gaze down at the sleeping baby, a warm, solid weight in my arms. I am so fucking tired, but these moments are so fucking lovely. 

I sigh and stand up, careful not to wake him. I gently place him into his crib and slip out of the room. 

I slide back into bed and wrap myself around Simon. He doesn’t wake up. 

**2:05 PM- Baz**

“Dad! Wipe my bum!” 

“Wipe my bum _please_ , you little miscreant.” 

“Wipe my bum, please, Daddy.” 

“Well, when you ask so nicely, how can I not wipe your bum?” Simon says as Nat giggles. “Now scoot. Go play with your brother.”

“He can’t even sit up yet, Daddy. All he does is cry and poop and eat,” Nat says, all sass. 

“Ollie can listen. Why don’t you introduce him to your Star Wars collection? Maybe baby Yoda can cheer him up. Now skedaddle so I can talk to your dad.”

“Ew. By talk you mean kiss,” Nat snarks as she skitters away.

“That is _your_ daughter, Mr. Snow-Pitch,” Simon murmurs, joining me in the office. He starts to knead at the muscles of my neck.

“Mm, yes. She may have inherited a bit of my acerbic wit that one,” I reply.

He hooks his head over my shoulder and peers at my monitor. “What are you working on?”

“I’m paying bills,” I reply.

“Merlin, Methuselah and Morgana!” Simon exclaims.

“What?” I roll back from the desk and swivel the chair to look at him.

“Those are the three most boring words I’ve heard in my whole life.” Simon grabs the armrests and leans into my space. “When did we become adults? With children? What happened to us? We were so cool.” 

Simon proceeds to sit in my lap. “Crowley, Snow you’re going to break the chair.”

He wraps his arms around my neck. “Now we’re just. So. Tired.”

“There, there love,” I say, patting him on the back. "You will always be cool to me.” 

“I suppose,” Simon murmurs into my neck. He brightens and looks up at me. “Are dad bods still cool?” 

**10:01 PM- Baz**

“We need to get away.”

“What?” I say. We’re in bed. The kids are gloriously asleep. (In their own beds.) (For now.) Simon is nestled against me, head on my chest. 

“Escape.” Snow tilts his face up to look at me. 

“I think we’re pretty committed to this whole married with children thing, Snow. Bit late for cold feet.” 

“No. I mean yes, but…” He shuffles to his elbows, laying on top of me. “Just one evening, a posh hotel.” Snow’s eyes are shining, “Imagine it, Baz. One whole night of uninterrupted sleep.” 

“You want to rent a hotel room so we can _sleep_?” I think I’m too exhausted to follow. 

“Well,” Simon smirks. “We’ll have wild monkey sex too, but then after we will sleep. For eight to twelve hours. In. A. Row.” His eyes are wild, bordering on manic. I think the chronic sleep deprivation of having a newborn and a restless three-year-old is driving him mad. Me too, frankly. The thought of a reprieve is heavenly.

“As tempting as that is, Snow, who will watch the children?” I sigh. It’s extremely tempting.

Snow grins like the cat that caught the canary. “I’ve already worked it out with Fiona.”

“ _What_?!” I sputter, attempting to sit up. 

Snow starts cackling. “It’s fine, every child needs a bit of anarchy in their life. It builds character.”

“Simon Snow— “I drop the -Pitch from his name when he’s being moronic, and this is definitely moronic. “I refuse to leave our children with my insane aunt.” A brief vision of Fiona with the baby strapped to her chest, dragging Nat through a vampire den shrieking, “ _Aim for the head, little Tasha_ ,” flashes before my eyes, and I shiver.

“Calm down love,” Simon laughs, “I’m taking the piss. Daphne and Malcolm are coming to watch them.”

“Daphne _and_ Malcolm?” I say, sliding on a sneer, “Here?” We’ve a house in Surrey, and Daphne visits from time to time, but Father rarely so, and usually he’s ill at ease to be out of his habitat.

“How did you manage that?” I wonder. 

“Meh,” Simon smiles, “I pulled some strings. Friends in high places. Perhaps a bit of emotional blackmail.” He has the audacity to wink at me with his sky-blue eyes. “All’s fair in love and war you know.” 

“This weekend?” I ask. 

“This weekend.” He grins, holding himself above me on all fours.

“You glorious, glorious man,” I say, then I reach up for his mouth. 

**2:34 AM- Simon:**

Something wakes me. Not the normal circadian rhythm of sleep. Something else. I listen into the darkness for the unmistakable sound of a child in distress. Nothing. I open my eyes and take stock: We’re home, Baz is snoring softly next to me, the kids are asleep, everything seems in order. 

The clock reads 2:34 AM. Fucking hell. We’ve only been asleep a few hours. The only people awake right now are vampires and parents. And probably cool people partying. Except for _my_ vampire, who is blissfully asleep right next to me. I think about this weekend: me, Baz, sleep. Crowley, I can’t wait.

I turn on my side, pull the blanket up against the chill and commit to feeling sorry for myself until I can fall asleep again. 

Wait. 

This is more than a chill.

It’s cold. Bone-jarring, frigid. 

I _know_ this cold. 

A lightning surge of adrenaline sends me bolt upright as if I’d never been asleep. I run a hand over my eyes, to wipe away any remnants of slumber. I peer at the foot of the bed, where sure enough, a pale figure is materializing.

_Natasha Grimm-Pitch._

_My mother-in-law._

_Crowley. Has it really been twenty years?_

“Baz,” I reach over and give his shoulder a shake. He doesn’t stir. Merlin, he sleeps like the dead. Well—the properly dead anyway.

“ _Baz_!” I say a bit louder. Mrs. Pitch? Natasha? Mum? —I don’t know what to call her— has drifted around to his side of the bed, and a second, paler figure is forming beside her. I poke Baz sharply in the ribs. I can’t believe the cold hasn’t woken him; my bones are aching with it.

“The fellatio Bank is full,” Baz growls, covering his head with a pillow and shifting to his stomach, “It’s your turn. _You’re_ feeding the baby, and _I’m_ sleeping. Turn up the heat while you’re at it, will you?”

I cut my eyes to Natasha in horror. She’s smirking at me, one eyebrow raised in a very familiar gesture. The ephemeral figure standing by her is someone I’ve never seen before. I can hardly make out her shape, but she seems surrounded by a halo of curly hair.

“Baz, for fucks sake, your mum’s here,” I say sharply, swatting at him. “Er, sorry Mrs. Pitch,” I grimace awkwardly, wincing as I catch her eye. She raises both brows and continues to smirk.

“What?” Baz stammers, tossing the pillow aside and scrambling to a seated position. His hair is positively akimbo.

He looks over at Natasha, who’s seated herself next to him on the bed. Time has stopped. The world isn’t spinning. “ _Mum_ ,” Baz says, quietly, with the weight of the thirty-three years it’s been since he’s used that word in this context. His eyes are shining. 

“Basilton,” she murmurs, brushing a wayward strand of hair from his forehead and tucking it behind his ear. Baz is five years old. Thirteen. Nineteen. Thirty-eight. A lifetime of moments missed. 

“I’m so proud of you. Of this life you’ve made. Despite what you are, because of it. It’s who you are.” She’s lightly holding his chin, grey eyes locked on each other. Tears are streaming down Baz’s face. “I want you to know how happy I am for you. How much I love you. All of you.”

She’s starting to flicker. Natasha moves her hand to Baz’s knee and looks over at me. “Simon,” she says, looking up at the apparition standing next to her, whose hand she’s been holding. “This is your mum, Lucy Salisbury. She hasn’t quite got the magic to cross over, so I’ve helped her.” As I stare agape at Lucy, I can just make out _my_ eyes and a hint of _my_ smile. “She wants you to know that you were loved and wanted, and she’s so sorry she had to leave you.” Natasha is speaking quickly, they’re both fading, but Lucy, _my mum,_ is almost mist. She drifts to my side. Like a whisper, I feel her featherlight touch on my face. I reach out, but she slips away. “ _My rosebud boy._ ” Her voice, like wind through a field. 

I remember to breathe, my heart restarts. 

_My mum._

Mrs. Pitch leans over to squeeze my knee, then back to place a kiss to Baz’s temple.

Lucy is gone, and Mrs. Pitch nearly so, but she ruffles Baz’s hair and quirks her eyebrow at him, looking over at me, “I can’t believe you married _The Chosen One_.” She’s grinning now, “I bet my sister had a fit, didn’t she?”

And with a laugh, Natasha Grimm-Pitch fades away.

I reach over and take Baz’s hand, intertwining my fingers with his. I lean into him, just to feel him, shoulder to hip. Sharing my warmth with him. Baz leans in, then folds himself around me, his head on my chest. I wrap him in my arms. We don’t need words right now. Words are for later.

This is just us. Grounded. Safe. 

Forever.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Ugh, where to begin. Many thanks to @artescapri for her unwavering support and beta reads. 
> 
> @Penpanoply and @Mudblood428 also provided invaluable beta help and advice, especially with the visiting. Y'alls input made it so much better. 
> 
> Thanks also to @Krisrix and the folks at the Golden Days Zine, y'all were so kind with my tech blunders and your enthusiastic support of this fic.  
> I am so proud of this Zine and what it accomplished, and am beyond thrilled to have been a part of it. 
> 
> I love writing middle aged Snowbaz, as they're in my age demographic, so that's why I've grouped this fic with another I wrote in this "world." I imagine there will be more :) 
> 
> Thanks for reading, loves <3 You are all such glorious creatures.


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